BooksBarbecue
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Chapters (86)
  1. Foreword
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. 31
  33. 32
  34. 33
  35. 34
  36. 35
  37. 36
  38. 37
  39. 38
  40. 39
  41. 40
  42. 41
  43. 42
  44. 43
  45. 44
  46. 45
  47. 46
  48. 47
  49. 48
  50. 49
  51. 50
  52. 51
  53. 52
  54. 53
  55. 54
  56. 55
  57. 56
  58. 57
  59. 58
  60. 59
  61. 60
  62. 61
  63. 62
  64. 63
  65. 64
  66. 65
  67. 66
  68. 67
  69. 68
  70. 69
  71. 70
  72. 71
  73. 72
  74. 73
  75. 74
  76. 75
  77. 76
  78. 77
  79. 78
  80. 79
  81. 80
  82. 81
  83. 82
  84. 83
  85. 84
  86. Afterword

Sofia suddenly felt it all coming down on her. Now that she was back in her perfect world with her expensive things, the full weight of what she’d done, of what she’d allowed herself to be used to do, came down on her like a ton of bricks.

She felt like she couldn’t breathe. She had to get out of the elevator. Without thinking, as soon as the doors opened, she brushed past Olga into the corridor.

The instant she stepped out, a man grabbed her around the neck.

55

Igor looked at the clunky phone on his desk for a long time. He was painfully aware that what he was about to do could well end up being the thing that killed him. Maybe not soon, maybe not for years, but when death came, as it surely would, it would trace back directly to this call.

And yet it was a call he had to make.

It was the price of admission, the path to power, the key to the kingdom. Whatever his fears, he’d long ago learned that the only way to do this job, to inhabit this world, was to accept that one day it would kill him. Anything less would be a weakness, and men like Davidov could smell weakness a mile away.

He picked up the phone and was about to dial when he stopped himself.

He put down the receiver.

His hand was trembling. He wanted a drink. He glanced at the cupboard under his desk. He’d told himself he needed a clear head but reached down anyway.

He pulled out the bottle and poured four ounces of vodka into his tea cup.

He went to the window and looked out at the massive construction site. He remembered the first time he’d set foot in that office, the first time he’d seen that view. He’d thought it was the grandest moment of his life. Before that, he’d spent sixteen years in a windowless office on the second floor, categorizing NATO intercepts.

There’d been times when he thought he was destined to spend his entire life in that second-floor office. It was little more than a closet. There’d been an old clock on the wall above the door, and he was certain he’d spent more of his life looking at its round face than at anything else on earth.

But then, advancing in an organization like the GRU was above all, a waiting game. And it was in that closet-office that Igor learned to wait.

He waited, he watched, and eventually, something happened.